It'll Be Okay
by Rizhae
Summary: There were bandages criss-crossing Marco's body, covering so many damned injuries that it hurt Jean just to look at the innocent, sterile white gauze. Jean could do nothing but stare for a moment, until the reality of it all came crashing down on him, harsh waves that made him want to break down and sob, to throw things and scream. (Jean/Marco friendship, Marco lives AU, one-shot)


A/N- So basically, I'm ridiculously proud of how this turned out. I know it's probably pretty OOC since I've never written Jean or Marco's characters before, but I really hope it turned out okay. Mostly since I spent about three times longer editing this than I usually do ^^ Well, I hope you guys enjoy~

_He's going to be okay... Of course he's going to be okay..._

Lines of tension were etched into Jean's face, his hands shoved deep in his uniform pockets. He hadn't bothered to change clothes since they returned to safety, and that had been hours ago. The notion of his own comfort hadn't crossed his mind even once. He made his way towards the impromptu hospital that had been set up for those who had been injured, heart racing with staccato beats from the horrible anticipation that maybe Marco wouldn't pull through, that he wouldn't-

He felt sick to his stomach and dizzy with worry, and his thoughts could focus on nothing but the state in which he had last seen Marco: bloody, broken, and moments from death.

_It'd be some kind of damned miracle, if he even managed to survive at all..._

Jean bumped into a young woman who was walking in the opposite direction, her hands full of groceries. He hardly gave her a backwards glance as the bags of produce fell to the ground and spilled. It didn't matter- nothing mattered right now, except that Marco would be okay, and he could still only half-way believe it until he saw it with his own eyes.

The Survey Corps had temporarily taken over the largest shop in the area, converting it almost immediately to a hospital of sorts for those who were in absolutely critical condition and wouldn't make it long enough to reach a formal practice. The number in that sort of condition was disturbingly high; out of everything he had ever experienced thus far in his life, this was the single most devastating thing he had ever experienced.

He took a deep, slow breath, begging his heart to stop racing and his whole body to stop sweating and shaking. He couldn't do it- his body was still tense and pumped full of adrenaline, and although logically he should be on the brink of collapse from exhaustion, he felt more manic and hyperactive than he had in a long time.

He wouldn't be able to calm down in the slightest until he saw for himself that Marco really was alive, that he was _okay_. Because all he could currently see in his mind's eye was the mostly-dead body that so closely resembled a corpse, battered and beaten and missing pieces and _covered in so much blood_.

Forcing his expression into something that hopefully resembled a poker face, Jean pushed the door of the shop-turned-hospital open. He hadn't been able to see or hear much of what was going on inside from outside the building, but now that he was inside he could feel the surrounding devastation soaking into him, penetrating his skin and oozing into his bones. Groans and wails of agony resounded throughout the cramped space; there were a few cots that had been summoned from god-knows-where, but for the most part the wounded were lying directly on the floor.

A row of bodies were covered in a sheet towards one wall, the corpses of those who hadn't made it and passed away either in the course of action or from the resulting injuries. The thought made Jean's stomach turn, and he wrenched his eyes away from the covered carcasses.

Remembering why he was there- and wondering how he had managed to get distracted, even for only a moment- Jean stopped a passing civilian nurse, anxiously asking,

"I'm looking for Marco Bodt. I was told he was brought here?" he kept his question concise and to the point, not wanting to take even a second more of the nurse's time than he had to.

"Ah, yes- I believe that's the young man over there." the nurse replied, hurrying on her way after giving a vague wave to the far corner of the shop. Most of the commotion was centered towards the front, so that although the shop wasn't particularly large, it was considerably calmer; the soldiers in this section seemed to be more stable, subdued, or maybe just resolved with the situation.

Jean panicked for a second when he didn't recognize Marco among the injured, until he noticed a sheet which had been rather hastily pinned across the corner, creating at least a small area of privacy. What it there to protect the occupant within from the rest of the wounded soldiers, or to protect the war-tattered servicemen from whatever terrible sight might be hidden behind?

Since there didn't seem to be any other option available as to where Marco might be, Jean took the few steps to cross the remaining space towards the curtain and slipped behind it.

He had been right, and in a horrible, twisted way, he wished that he hadn't been.

The dark-haired boy was probably the most seriously injured out of the soldiers Jean had seen, and if Jean hadn't seen the faint rise and fall of his chest, Jean would have thought that he was, without a doubt, dead.

Marco was laying on a collapsible cot, which someone had done their best to make comfortable with blankets and a few pillows. His eyes were closed- or rather, his eye. The right one was covered by a bandage, and although the wound was sufficiently covered there was grotesque bruising visible around the edges and a faint trace of blood soaking through the thin gauze bandage. Jean's breath hitched as he allowed his eyes to move lower.

He was wearing a lightweight button-down pajama shirt, probably borrowed or donated by some civilian, which was left unbuttoned and revealed thick white bandages criss-crossing over his arm, shoulder, and neck. Jean stared blankly for a moment, eyes wide and unblinking.

One of the shirt's sleeves, the right one, was empty, the fabric tied in a loose knot. In a daze, Jean wondered why they had bothered to tie it; had it not already been obvious how disturbingly empty it was? How _wrong_ it looked, the sudden asymmetry between right and left? How _horrible_ it was, that Marco- so strong, always smiling and bright and _so damn amazing_, had been reduced to something that could only be described as nightmarish.

There were bandages criss-crossing Marco's body, covering so many damned injuries that it hurt Jean just to look at the innocent, sterile white gauze. Jean could do nothing but stare for a moment, until the reality of it all came crashing down on him, harsh waves that made him want to break down and sob, to throw things and scream about _why the fuck this had happened to Marco of all people, god damn it_.

He bit his lip so hard that it started bleeding, and it was only then that he noticed the dry, heaving sobs that had begun wracking his body. He sank to the floor, wanting desperately to cling to Marco, but knew that it wouldn't be a good idea, since he didn't want to risk injuring him further. Instead, he fisted his hands into the blanket covering the lower half of Marco's body, trembling in horror and shock and panic and so many more emotions that he couldn't even begin to name.

The fabric was rough against his face, and for an undetermined amount of time he sat there, mentally coming to terms with everything that had happened. _He's alive... at least he's alive... no matter what happened and how horrible it was, he's not gone, Marco's still alive..._

"... Jean?" Marco's voice wavered, but the single word was clearly distinguishable. His lone eye was open, roving the makeshift room with obvious fear and confusion. He appeared disoriented, panicked, horrified. Jean wasn't sure what to say, until Marco repeated, sounding considerably more unnerved, "_Jean?"_

"Marco, it... It's okay. It's really okay. You're okay. You did great out there- _fantastic_- you... you're safe now. It's alright. No need to panic." Jean forced his words to sound calmer than he felt, reaching to Marco's other side to grasp his remaining hand firmly.

"I... H-how?" Marco hiccuped, tears beginning to slide out from the corner of his eye. "It... It..." he gulped, his voice cracking, "It got me... I screwed up, m-miscalculated, I-"

It only seemed then to dawn on him he extent of his injuries. The lone, dark eye moved to take in the empty, knotted sleeve hanging dead at his side. The sight pushed him over the edge, the expression on his face agonized. His lips mouthed indistinguishable words, and something about him on the inside broke in that moment.

It tormented Jean to see Marco like that, so he half-stood from his kneeling position on the ground to embrace him- gently, cautiously, trying as hard as he could to keep Marco from feeling any more pain than it was evident he already was.

Marco's lone arm reached up to wrap tightly around Jean, pulling him crushingly close with more force than Jean would have expected him to be capable of. Jean didn't protest, just sat there hugging Marco back and hoped that his presence would be at least the slightest bit reassuring.

"You'll be okay, Marco, I promise... You'll be alright." Maybe it wasn't the complete truth- but sometimes, a sweet lie was better than a foul reality. Time slowed to a crawl, Jean helpless to do anything as Marco clung desperately to him, coming to terms with how he would inevitably be for the rest of his life.

After a while, Jean shifted just enough that he was half-laying on the bed next to Marco, their fingers lightly intertwined.

"_I won't_..." Marco whispered once they were settled. "This isn't- I'm not..." another sob shook his body, before he continued, "I can't... I can't help humanity. I... It should have just eaten all of me!" Jean felt his heart skip a beat, and he frantically tried to think of something, _anything_, that would save Marco from such toxic thoughts.

"Are you crazy? Did that damn thing mess with your brain or something? Do you know how stupid and ignorant that sounds? Of course you can still help humanity, idiot! I don't think you get it- do you know how much everyone would miss you? Could you _get it through your head_? Do you know how much _I _would have missed you? Do you?" In his agitation, Jean had sat up, his worry and stress and fears being misdirected and turned into anger. "Don't you _ever_ say you wish that had happened."

In that moment, Marco seemed to understand just how much Jean truly would have missed him if the outcome of the day had been any more grim. "I'm... sorry." Marco mumbled, looking away from Jean. His inner turmoil was still present, but something about what Jean had said had taken the edge off of it. It had turned the searing dagger into a dull throb, the pain still there but much more bearable.

"And of course you can still help humanity- they'll still take you into the Military Police, of course they will. But don't worry about that yet- Just relax, don't worry about it yet. Things will work out just fine, okay?" Marco gave a slight, subdued nod.

Jean hoped he was right- hoped desperately that despite this serious of a setback, Marco would still be able to follow his dream of joining the military police, and do anything he could to save humanity from the titans.

"Jean?" Marco's voice was still unsteady, but he seemed to have gotten over the brunt of his panic. "I was so scared." Jean nodded, squeezing Marco's hand reassuringly.

"I know. It's okay. You're safe now, and that's all that matters, okay?" Marco nodded, the faintest trace of a weak smile tugging at his mouth.

"...Jean?" Marco inquired again, wincing as he tried to change his position. "Thank you."


End file.
